


Wherein the Stars Tremble

by kjack89



Series: Lord of the Rings AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Developing Relationship, Dwarves, Elves, M/M, My most sincere apologies to both Victor Hugo and J.R.R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord of the Rings AU. When Grantaire was selected to go to Rivendell, he wasn't expecting much. He certainly wasn't expecting to meet a gorgeous blond Elf named Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherein the Stars Tremble

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no excuses for this besides lots of feelings about Elves and their stupid dwarf boyfriends.
> 
> Takes place roughly concurrent to the Council of Elrond, though canon details are sketchy at best and non-existent at worst. My Elvish is _really_ rough, so forgive any mistakes made.
> 
> Though a one-shot at the moment, I can't promise that I won't want to play around more in Middle Earth, as I love it so very much.
> 
> Title is from Namárië, Galadriel's Lament in Lórien.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own none of the source material and all of the typos.

Grantaire looked around furtively before settling underneath a large oak tree, close enough to the river Bruinen that he hoped the sound might drown any he made during the afternoon. In truth, he had no plans but to laze under the tree and drink from the wineskin he had swiped from one of the men of Gondor here for the great Council of Master Elrond.

There was little enough for any dwarf to do here in the pretty realm of Rivendell, where the Elves were merry and all seemed well, and less even for Grantaire, a craftsman only brought along on this journey as his father was accompanying Glóin and his son Gimli. If Grantaire could have had his way, he would have remained under the Mountain, making trinkets that didn’t serve much purpose, but were at least pretty.

As a pupil of the great dwarf craftsman Gros, his father had put his final hopes in Grantaire making something of himself, once Grantaire proved that mining was not his forte. But Grantaire preferred drinking to most other pastimes, which did not lend itself to creating much of anything, particularly anything worthwhile.

And now he found himself in Rivendell, among Elves who, though they seemed to spend their lives pursuing pleasure, still seemed more useful in the course of the great world than him. Grantaire didn’t want to change the world, he just wanted to forget about it.

Which brought him to the banks of the Bruinen, where if he closed his eyes he could pretend was the rushing of the waterways of Dale, a place where he had wasted much time in his youth. He sighed and took a long pull from the wineskin, leaning back against the tree and stroking his black beard once before closing his eyes..

He might have fallen asleep under the warm light filtering in between the leaves, but for a sudden, light laugh that made him sit up, almost dropping the wineskin and spilling the wine within. “Who’s there?” he called, glancing around and seeing no one in the sun-dappled glade. The light laugh sounded again and this time Grantaire shot to his feet, looking wildly around. “Show yourself!” he demanded.

Three Elves appeared in the clearing, the laughing one instantly apparent from the wide grin he still wore, his green eyes the same color as the leaves, and he brushed an errant strand of dark hair from his face. “What fierce demands from so small a person,” the Elf said, something almost sweet in his voice.

His two companions, both blond, looked less amused, though one looked at least torn between laughter and the stern expression of the third. The third stepped forward and said sternly in a voice that sounded like music, “You are in danger of wandering outside the protections of Imladris, dwarf.”

Whatever words Grantaire might have said in response died on his tongue the moment the Elf stepped into the light. His golden hair seemed to shine like golden flames, his eyes were the same beautiful color as the cloudless sky, and his face, stern as it was, made Grantaire long to chisel its likeness in the most flawless of gems if only to try and capture the magnificence there. It felt rather like looking at the sun, and the sight made Grantaire’s heart soar.

He said none of these things, though the Elf’s two companions shared knowing looks, having correctly read the emotions that had flashed across Grantaire’s face; instead, he straightened to his full height, even less impressive than normal next to the tall, lithe Elf, and said in his usual easy, mocking tone, “I was unaware that Elfkind was allowed to have concern for dwarves.”

The dark-haired Elf laughed again, and the other blond Elf elbowed him. “Courfeyrac,” the Elf said in a warning voice, but the dark-haired Elf just laughed it off.

“Do not mistake Enjolras’s words for concern, little dwarf,” the dark-haired Elf, Courfeyrac, said teasingly.

Grantaire mouthed the name ‘Enjolras’ to himself, almost tasting the name on his tongue as the Elf in question turned to frown at Courfeyrac. The third Elf rolled his eyes and elbowed Courfeyrac again. “U-bedo,” he hissed, “unless you want to hear Enjolras’s speech on how all species demand respect yet again.”

Courfeyrac pouted, a quite comical sight on his Elven features, but Enjolras smiled slightly at the third Elf and said quietly, “Hannon le, Combeferre.”

Something unspoken passed between the three Elves, and Combeferre tugged lightly on Courfeyrac’s arm, leading him out of the clearing. Enjolras turned back to Grantaire and told him lightly, “My words _were_ meant as concern. It is not safe to wander about in these times, be you man, dwarf, or Elf.” His blue eyes scanned the horizon as if searching for something, and when he looked back at Grantaire, his expression was grave. “There is a darkness stirring in Middle Earth.”

Grantaire, however, was not paying much attention to what Enjolras was saying, too busy repeating his name in his head as if he might understand all that Enjolras was by his name alone. “What does Enjolras mean in Elvish?” he asked, feeling slightly bold.

Enjolras blinked, the only sign that the question had taken him off-guard. “It is a family name, so it has no meaning,” he said, though his tone suggested there was more to it than that.

Cocking his head slightly, Grantaire stroked his beard and said, even bolder than before, “Had I named you, I would have named you after Tulkas, Champion of the Valar, for you are more valiant and beautiful than any Elf I have ever seen.”

Grantaire honestly didn’t know what he expected Enjolras’s reaction to be; truthfully, he had not thought through the words he had just uttered, instead feeling almost as if he was under a spell from the beauty of the Elf. Whatever he had expected, it certainly had not been for Enjolras to throw his head back and laugh. As sweet as his voice had sounded, his laugh sounded even sweeter, like honey pouring directly from his lips, and Grantaire’s heart leapt at the sound. For one fervent moment, he thought wildly that he would have done anything to hear that sound again.

But too soon Enjolras stopped laughing, though his eyes still seemed to shine with unspoken mirth. “What an odd dwarf you are,” he said, looking at Grantaire curiously. “Not only do you speak of the Valar as if you have heard all the songs and stories, but you speak as if you and I had been acquainted for millennia rather than complete strangers.”

“Then let me introduce myself, and we’ll no longer be strangers,” Grantaire said innocently. “I am Grantaire, and you, of course, are Enjolras.”

Enjolras raised one perfect eyebrow at him. “Grantaire,” he repeated. “Do not most of your kind introduce themselves with their father’s name as well?”

Grantaire’s expression soured. “As I am nothing but a disappointment to my father, I did not think to include his name with mine.”

To Grantaire’s surprise, this caused Enjolras to smile widely. “Then we are good company indeed, for I am a disappointment to my father as well.”

“How could _you_ ever be a disappointment to _anyone_?” Grantaire blurted, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Something in Enjolras’s expression twisted, and he turned away slightly, his shoulders tense. In fact, his entire body was as tense as Grantaire had ever seen an Elf. “I am afraid that to my father, I am a disappointment in a great many ways, Master Dwarf.” Enjolras’s voice was quiet, with a tinge of almost bitterness, and Grantaire shrank back at hearing such a melodic voice sound so sad. “My father believes that the time of the Elf is over, and that as such, we should all take the ships to the Undying Lands. He thinks we should leave this world to ruin.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras carefully. “And you disagree?”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “I _fervently_ disagree. We fought most fiercely about it, many years ago, and have not spoken since.” His expression became suddenly fierce. “I do not believe that Elves should turn their back on this land, nor its peoples. We should offer our help against the Great Evil. Everyone is needed in order overcome the darkness.”

Snorting, Grantaire shook his head. “Surely not _everyone_ is needed,” he said. “An Elf such as you, certainly, fair and wise, but what could one such as me do to help in the battle against evil?” He shook his head again. “No, I envy the wee hobbits, who can stay out of such matters. This fight is bigger than any of us.”

“Which is exactly why we must join together!” Enjolras said, his eyes shining with fervor. “I can no more defeat Sauron than you, but together, with all the peoples of Middle Earth, we can force Darkness back into the abyss from which it came!”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Ah, the naiveté of youth,” he said, a little wistfully. “Alas, having seen what I have, there are those born to be great, and then there are the rest of us, born to our lives of mediocrity. We cannot all be heroes.”

“Youth, Master Dwarf?” Enjolras asked, his voice turning cold. “I was born many years before your forebears were even chased from Erebor by the dragon Smaug. Do not mistake what hope I have left for this world for naïveté, when it is anything but.”

Thoroughly abashed, Grantaire ducked his head. “You make me almost believe that this world is worth saving,” he muttered.

Enjolras was quiet for a long moment before asking softly, “You do not think that it is?”

Shrugging, Grantaire turned to look out at the river. “Certain parts, I suppose,” he admitted. “I would not want to see the halls of Erebor fall to ruin, nor the rivers run dry, nor mountains leveled, but there is darkness in the world beyond the darkness that comes from the armies gathering in Mordor.” He shrugged again. “But what would I know? I am a dwarf, and dwarves do not concern themselves with such things. Or at least, we’re not meant to.”

“And yet Glóin is here at behest of Dáin, so at least some of your kin are concerned with the wider world,” Enjolras pointed out evenly. “And I do not believe your heart to be as hard as you claim it to be.”

Grantaire blushed slightly. “Ah, my heart would be open and willing too if I were a beautiful Elf,” he said, aiming to keep his voice light and easy. “But I am a dwarf.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You say that as if it is a restriction, when it is anything but. Being a dwarf lends you iron in your veins and the strength of the mountains in your fists; do not be so quick to dismiss what you are.” He paused before adding, “But also do not think it holds you back. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

For a moment Grantaire considered his words, then, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “If I could fashion for myself legs made of gold and diamonds so that I could stand tall beside you, I would, and fight all the darkness in the world at your side.” Enjolras stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Grantaire continued, almost desperately, “I would look bright enough to deserve a place at your side, without dimming your fair visage.”

Smiling, Enjolras shook his head, and Grantaire turned away, feeling his face burn. His words were so _foolish_ , but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, not when facing Enjolras, who was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, and he felt like an idiot. But then Enjolras bent and tilted Grantaire’s chin up with gentle fingers. “You would deserve a place at my side just as you are.”

Grantaire stared up at Enjolras, and after a moment of hesitation, Enjolras kissed him, a light, gentle and fleeting kiss, but one that made Grantaire’s heart sing with all the music of the Elves. Then, as soon as it had happened, it had ended, and Enjolras stood tall again, looking back at Rivendell. “I must return to Lord Elrond’s,” he said, something like regret in his voice.

“Will I see you again?” Grantaire asked, not daring to hope.

Enjolras turned and smiled slightly. “Unless Lord Elrond orders me away, I will remain here,” he said lightly. “Come and find me and we can talk more. And maybe I will convince you yet that this world is worth saving.”

Grantaire managed a smile as well, sweet and almost shy, and called after Enjolras as he turned away, “With you talking to me, I’m sure I will be convinced in no time!”

Enjolras smiled over his shoulder at Grantaire and called, “Namárië!”

Grantaire watched him until he was long gone, and then sank back to the ground, tempted to reach for the wine but not wanting to watch the taste of Enjolras out of his mouth or his memory from his mind. He settled for leaning back against the tree, this time facing the house up on the cliff, and closed his eyes, and when he fell asleep this time, it was to dreams of Enjolras.

**Author's Note:**

> Rough translation of the Elvish:
> 
> -Imladris: Sindarin name for Rivendell  
> -U-bedo: shut up, do not speak  
> -Hannon le: thank you  
> -Namárië: farewell


End file.
